Visitation Rights or One Jar of Peanut Butter
by tibieryo
Summary: Hurley stops by to visit Charlie on a cliff, and decides that Charlie needs his help. Sequel to Fire, Hurleycentric.
1. Cliff Conversations and Peanut Butter

_Is it just me,  
or am I all on my own again?  
You're in the Vatican,  
and I'm in the Yemen,  
and it feels like the end._

-The Darkness, _Is It Just Me?_

"_Is it just me, am I all on my own again. . ._"

He saw Charlie, sitting high off the ground again, this time on a cliff. Then he realized, while everyone had been busy pitying Charlie, hating Charlie, ignoring Charlie, or trying hard not to humour Charlie, none of them had talked to Charlie. And it was in this moment he remembered why his friends back at Santa Rosa had called him "Shrink".

"_And do you think of me, while we're growing old? 'Til death do us part, to have and to hold–_"

"Dude." Charlie stopped playing and singing and turned around to see Hurley standing behind him. "That's beautiful."

"Frankie always said he'd rewrite it," Charlie said, looking back down at his one pick, one set of strings and away from his one friend. "Too sentimental."

"Wow," Hurley said. "That guy's a dumbass."

"You do realize he also wrote a worldwide smash hit?" Charlie said, looking back up at Hurley.

Hurley scoffed. "I prolly never heard it." Charlie proceeded to play an all-too-familiar opening chord progression as Hurley cringed. "Oh, dude, no WAY he wrote that."

"They credited the entire first album to the whole band," Charlie explained. "But yeah, he wrote it."

"Dude." Hurley sat down beside Charlie and dangled his feet off the cliff. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing really." Charlie gave a small chuckle. "How about you?"

"Nothin'." The two guys sat together for a while staring at the jungle around them.

"So, I was sure you thought I was a druggie," Charlie said after a moment. "That you thought I was delusional. That you thought I was purposefully trying to destroy the camp and drown Claire's baby. That you were sure I was using until Locke rightfully right-hooked me into the surf."

"Yeah," Hurley said, "I'm pretty sure you're an idiot for thinking that. Dude, you weren't trying to hurt anyone. And babies don't drown. I'm pretty sure you woulda dropped some water on the kid's head, said some words, put him back and that was that."

"Yeah." Charlie had a hitch in his voice and couldn't bear to look back over at Hurley.

"And you know what?" Hurley added. "I'm as sure as the weight I have not lost that you weren't using. Detox does some funny things to people, and this island does some funny things to people. The combination, it was probably hell. Knowing you had to do something and no one would believe you when you said you had to do it."

"Yeah." Charlie looked over the cliff to the stream below. "Where's your walking stick?"

"Over there, leaning on a tree."

"And how's the blonde clinical psychologist?"

"She found this really hot strappy purple top in the luggage. . ." Hurley said wistfully. "Dude, I sound really, really gay. . ."

"I assume you want to rip it off of her more than you want to wear it?" Charlie said, laughing at Hurley.

"Yeah." Hurley grinned. "Not so gay, huh?"

"Nah." Charlie laughed with Hurley. "It's good to have you back, man."

"Actually, I came out here to–"

"Oh, sorry, I'll sod off then," Charlie said, deflating and getting up to leave.

"No, dude, let me finish." Hurley turned around to the big bag he'd been carrying. "After the feast I pulled off," he said slowly unzipping the bag, "I had a little left over. So, ranch?"

Charlie looked back over at Hurley and he was now holding an industrial sized container of Ranch Dressing. As he was sitting back down, he asked "So, what else is in the bag, Dad?"

"Salad, chocolate bars, ketchup no names, Japanese twinkies–Have you ever seen a _Japanese twinkie_?" He passed a pack of four tiny, twinkie coloured pastries to Charlie as he put his guitar down. "I also got a couple cartons of UHT–who wants milk as their comfort food?–and some processed juice. You know, that ranch goes really well with raw noodles. . ."

Charlie gave him the international look of "?"

"I found a couple packs of Mr. Noodle. Course, I love that stuff like a fat guy in his mid-twenties loves Mr. Noodle, so I only took a couple packs out for the feast. Both gone." Hurley looked at Charlie to hand him a pack of Mr. Noodle Chicken. "Dude, are you feeling alright?"

"It's been a while since anyone just. . ." Charlie looked around for the right word. "Shot the shit with me, as you Yanks say it."

"Dude, don't worry about it." Hurley opened a pack of noodles, took the top off the ranch dressing and started messily munching away.

"I'm gunna skip the dressing," Charlie said cautiously, pouring the seasoning into the noodle pack and shaking.

"Dude, you're missing out," Hurley said, taking another dip.

"Dude," Charlie said, the word falling out of his mouth as gracefully as a duck with no wings and a giant, disproportionate orange head, "No thank you."

"Dude, you just said dude."

"I know."

Then, together, "Duuuuuuude. . ."

"And it sounds so funny, cos you got that accent!"

"I know, eh?"

A couple hours later found Hurley at sunset. He was walking along the beach, towards Claire's tent, praying that she'd be alone, that Locke wouldn't be there to fuck things up. He'd already passed on watching the sun set with Libby.

_"Hey, Hurley," she'd said._

Oh dear god, she's wearing that purple strappy thing_, he'd thought. _Worse, she knows it. . .

_"I thought maybe we could. . ." she'd said, dripping hesitation off of every word. "Watch the sun set. . . together. . . alone."_

Oh, SHIT, dude!_ "Uhh, I would love to, but, I kinda got somewhere to be right now," he'd said._

_"Oh. . ." she'd deflated._

_"How about," he'd began. "Well, I wake up early anyway, so. . . maybe, we could watch the sun rise?"_

_"Yeah, but you gotta walk a quarter way across the island to catch that," she'd replied. "Or up a really tall mountain."_

_"Or a tree," he'd said._

_"You know just the spot, don't you." It wasn't even a question._

_"Yeah. . ."_

_"See you before the sun comes up, Food-maestro."_

Hurley stopped in his tracks._ Dude, what is with this island and mad flashbacks? _He rounded the corner and saw Claire's tent. No Locke. Go-time.

"Hey, Claire," Hurley said, walking over to Aaron's crib.

"Hey yourself, Hurley," she replied, folding laundry and grinning. As was her custom. _Prepare to die. . ._ Hurley chuckled to himself. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just–Wayne's World."

Claire nodded and took a breath in. "Hm, never did see that. . . It any good?"

"Hilarious." Hurley took a deep breath and stood up a bit straighter. "Uh, that's. . . that's not why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. . ."

"So, why are you here?" Claire said, looking over her shoulder at Hurley.

"I-uh. . . I have something for you." Hurley stood sheepishly behind her as she turned around to look at him.

_Oh god,_ Claire thought. _He's here cos Charlie's gone. . . oh, does this mean I have to let him off easy? Oh, god this is awkward. . ._ "So, what is it?"

"It's. . . uhh. . ." He rummaged around in his pack for the jar he'd kept. The jar he'd kept for Charlie if he was ever in the doghouse. He'd thought his friend might need a Hurley-vote of confidence when the time came. And the time had come. "It's this."

Claire watched as he pulled out an unopened, yellow jar of peanut butter. "Uh, Hurley, this is flattering, but–"

"Oh, no! It's not from me," Hurley clarified. "Charlie said you two'd run out the night I came out with all the food. And he said he'd always regretted thinking that he should ask for another jar, thinking it was selfish, or that other people out of all of us might like a little peanutty goodness now and then. So, I kept a jar for him."

"Hurley, that's great, but I'm not sure I can forgi–"

"Dude, he's not asking for forgiveness. He wants you to know he never used, that he never meant to hurt anyone, and that the worst he would have done to Aaron on the best day is drop a couple drops of water on his head and say some funny words while you weren't looking."

Hurley had dropped his head to his feet while he was saying this, and looked back up at Claire. He was surprised to see that she'd been crying silently all that time. "Look," he added, "it's not like he expects you to feel like you did before. But he lied. . . he lied because he didn't want to disappoint you. He lied because he didn't want to hurt you, and because he wanted to see Aaron." Hurley took a chance to pause and hold back his emotions.

"Dude, you meant a lot more to him than he thinks he meant to you. And he never wanted to lose that. Yeah, he's a bastard, yeah, Locke says he's a useless junkie who tried to drown your kid. Yeah, I found him halfway to nowhere with your baby in hand, staring at the sea. But he also went all the way to nowhere for your baby against an armed chick who'd been living alone for sixteen years. He fell asleep down the beach from you every other night, checking to see if you were okay.

"It doesn't even matter if you slept with him," he said, shocking Claire with the knowledge that anyone but the silent and the dead knew about that. "What matters is, he's off in the jungle, alone, staring at the same forty foot drop every day. What matters is, he cared about you enough to die for you and kill for you. And did I mention the armed French chick?" Claire and Hurley both laughed through their tears.

"All I'm saying is," Hurley finished. "He needs someone. And it ain't me." With that, he reached out and handed Claire the unopened jar of peanut butter. He started to walk back to his hut in the gathering darkness, when he turned back to Claire and called, "And don't think it's you, either!"

Claire held the jar in her hand. She looked around to see if Locke was anywhere nearby. Then, she tucked it into her travel bag, took Aaron out of his crib (swaddled and asleep) and rocked him in her arms.

"So," she asked the sleeping baby. "How would you like to see your daddy again?"


	2. Of Libby, Locke, Claire and Charlie

"Wow. . ."

"I never thought a. . ."

"I know, I feel like I just watched a three hour long action movie. . ."

"Whoo. . . Was it worth waking up that early?"

"Ehh. . . I wouldn't go that far."

"What would make it worth it?"

Hurley and Libby were walking back to the beach shortly after dawn. Their fingers were entwined as they gently tramped the underbrush, staring at the new lit sky. Both of them pretended not to notice their hands as they walked quietly, Libby afraid of Others and Hurley afraid of the other survivors' opinions. Libby was still considering how she should phrase her answer.

"I think we know what would make it worth it," she decided on. "I mean, it is sort of. . . custom. . . after a first date."

_Did she have to say "_custom_?"_ he thought. "This was a date?" he said aloud.

"On an abandoned. . ." she paused for a moment to consider, "well, _semi_-abandoned island, what do you expect to do? Kraft Dinner and the Orientation video?"

"I can't say. . ." Hurley stopped walking and took his hand from hers to put on his hip. "How did you know about the Orientation video?"

"A good psychologist never gives away her sources." Then, under visual scrutiny from Hurley, "Oh, fine, Eko told me."

"Big guy with the Jesus stick Eko?" he asked.

"There's another one?" she answered.

"There _is_?" he questioned, astonished.

"You are. . ." she trailed, trying to find a proper adjective. "Hurley. You're Hurley."

He blushed, smiled, took her hand and resumed walking. By the time they got to the beach, the sun was fully up and the early birds were rustling from their huts. He walked her back past the campfire and to her tent.

"Well, here we are," she said.

"Yep."

"You walked me home."

"Well, my place is just a couple blocks from here."

"Ooh, a gentleman _and_ modest."

Hurley chuckled, then leaned over and kissed Libby on the forehead. "Seeya. . . today."

"What was that?" she asked, grinning.

"Huh?" he said, catching her mood.

"You pecked me on the forehead, you dope," she said with a chort.

"Well. . ."

"_Here_'s how you do it, Casanova," she said as she took his face in her hands and kissed him full on. Hurley was scared stiff at first, and then just eased into it, slipping his arms around her waist. Libby's hands dropped to join at the back of his neck. Just as he started to pull her closer, she broke it off saying, "Nuh uh. Not on a first date."

"Jit–dit–you–awww. . ." he managed to choke out, smiling.

She pecked him once more on the lips. "Good night, Hurley." And with that, she turned around and closed herself into her tent.

"Wooo!" "Go Hurley!" "Ow-OW!" random male voices cried from the surrounding area.

"Yeah, yeah, keep it down," Hurley replied with a shushing gesture.

"I fink Hurwey's in wuv!" said a different voice from by the beach.

"Yeah, shut it, Warren!" he yelled back. He started to make his way back to his hut–he was, after all, a chapter or two into that detective novel, and it seemed _really_ cool–when he met Locke outside Claire's tent.

"Hey, Hugo," he said, pulling up, lazily chopping at a weird fruit only he would know was edible. "I take it things are going a little better for you?"

"Hurley and Libby, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N–!"

"Libby!" Hurley yelled, turning around to where he'd just been.

"Sorry! Couldn't resist." With a flash of teeth and a flurry of blonde, she was hidden from view again.

"Yeah," he said, turning to Locke again, "I think I'm cool."

"How's Charlie doing?" Locke asked, taking a bite of. . . what _was_ that, anyway?

"He's. . ." Hurley stopped to keep the anger at bay. "He's my friend, dude."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're not asking because you care about him," Hurley said, anger rising in his tone. "You're asking because you think he's trying to hurt us all. He's not trying to hurt anyone."

"I never thought that–" Locke began.

"Is that why you socked him into the surf after rescuing Aaron and playing the hero?" Hurley paused, shook his head, took a deep breath and let it out. "Sorry, dude. I gotta get back to my hut. Catch a couple missed _Z_s. No hard feelings, man," he finished walking off down the beach and leaving Locke speechless.

* * *

Walking back from getting water that day, Hurley felt a bit better. For one, he'd gotten some form of momentary resolution from _Bad Twin_ and for two, it felt like he'd gotten a load off of his chest by saying what he said to Locke.

"'No hard feelings', eh?" he heard in a heavily accented voice. He turned to see Claire, leaning against the front post of her tent, and grinning. _Freaking customs. . ._ he thought fleetingly.

"Well. . ." he started cautiously.

"Don't worry, he's at the Hatch," she explained. "If he can hear what you're saying now, he deserves to."

"He _was_ a dick," Hurley stated.

"And Charlie _did_ light the forest on fire and steal my baby," Claire retorted.

"To _babtize_ it! Can you think of anything more inane?"

"Oh, perhaps a walk in the woods, a toddle down the beach, changing his nappy. . ."

"Rescuing him from Armed Crazy Women? That's inane alright. . ."

"Why are we fighting?" Claire asked, walking over to Hurley. "I know what you're trying to say, it's just that I don't really trust him right now."

"I can be there. With Charlie, while he's seeing Aaron," he suggested. In fact, it's what he'd been thinking the entire time. He really liked the little guy. The baby, not the–hold up, what was she saying now? "Huh?"

"I said," she replied, "that sounds like an okay idea."

"Oh, kickin'." Hurley walked over to actually stand near Claire's tent, instead of halfway down the beach. "So, how are we gunna work this out? Like, alternate Tuesdays?"

"I dunno," Claire said, sitting down on the bench set out by the back wall to look over the crib where Aaron was sucking his thumb contentedly. "How badly does Charlie want to see him, anyhow?"

"I don't really talk to him about you, or Aaron, or Locke," Hurley admitted, looking for a place to sit down. "I mean, he doesn't really know that I'm doing this, is there somewhere I can sit?"

"He doesn't know?" she gasped.

"Uhh, not really?" he said, squinting guiltily. "Seriously, anywhere? Cos that bench only seats me and a midget. . ."

"I think there's a stump back. . ." she began, getting up and walking around her tent to indicate behind her, "here."

"Oh, thanks," he said, taking the stump back around front and sitting across from the bench.

"So, why doesn't he know?" Claire asked.

"Cos, if you'd said no, I wouldn't want him to get his hopes up, you know?" Hurley said, putting his pack down beside him, and taking out the water.

"Yeah, I get what you're saying," she said with a sigh, leaning back on her tarp. "So, when Charlie's seeing Aaron, you'll be there?"

"Yeah."

"Can I be there with you, you know, later on?" she asked, leaning forward and speaking quietly.

"Yeah, sure. He really wants to see you." Hurley took another gulp of water and looked at Aaron, who looked at Hurley. They both sat wide eyed, staring at each other, sizing each other up, when Aaron smiled. "Hey, little guy. . ."

"Hurley. Hurley! Eyes up here, I just asked you something!"

"Nguh?"

"I thought you said you didn't talk to him about these things," she restated.

"We don't," he answered. "There's no need to talk about it. It's sorta like me in a roomful of midgets–all of the midgets know I'm there, and none of them talk about it, cos it's kind of obvious that there's a huge fat guy in the room."

"What is with you and little people?" Claire asked, narrowing her eyes.

"There aren't any around to offend," Hurley admitted to the sand.

"Oh. So, we're trying this out tomorrow then?" she asked briskly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go tell him."

* * *

"So, what are you here for, Hurley?"

"Well, I got a bit of a surprise for you. . . What are you doing, man?"

Charlie was doing odd structural work with a lot of bamboo and rope, and Hurley couldn't quit hack out what it was. Not that he cared, or that Charlie would care in a moment's time.

"Tables. I'm helping Sayid out. See? Two friends more than Locke."

"In the words of Dr. Phil," Hurley said, continuing in a southern accent, "you have to let go of your anger."

"That'll be easier once. . . But. . . You know. . ." Charlie replied, sitting on the edge of the table to talk to Hurley.

"So, where's Sayid right now?" Hurley asked, looking around.

"In the underbrush." Charlie indicated with his hand. "He's been in and out of there all day, all sweaty and pale. I think he had a bad case of mango."

"We got mangoes?" Hurley gasped.

"Yeah," Charlie said casually. "There's a bunch a mile or two in."

"Man, when I am done here, I gotta get me some fuckin' mango. I have like, a mango craving," Hurley gushed, looking at the forest.

"What do you mean, when you're done here?" Charlie asked, hopping off of the table to stand eye to chin with Hurley.

"Well, back after the food stunt, you remember how you always wanted another jar of peanut butter?"

And so, Hurley filled Charlie in on his conversations with Claire over the past two days, from the one jar of peanut butter to just moments ago.

"And she said 'we're trying this out tomorrow then,' and I said 'sure,' then I came to tell you."

"Wait, hold up. You kept a jar of peanut butter just to bail me out of the doghouse?" Charlie asked incredulously.

"Have you been listening since the beginning? Do I need to repeat everything?"

"No, it's just. . . Why would you do that for me?"

"If you're gone, who am I going to talk to?"

"Real sentimental, Hurley," Charlie said, stepping back up on top of the table. "Tres Brokeback."

"Huh?"

"Sorry, you wouldn't get that," Charlie said absently. "Obscure literary reference. Story by Annie Proulx. It's about two gay cowboys over the years. I read it on the road, found it in a 'banned books bin' in Alabama. Not actually banned, but, well, you know."

"Sounds. . . pretty empty," Hurley said.

"Hey, Hurley," Sayid said, emerging from the underbrush. "What do you want?"

"Uhh, nothing, I was just booking," Hurley said, turning to leave. "So, we on for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we're on," Charlie responded.

"What was that about?" Sayid asked, passing up a log as Hurley walked back home.

"Nothing of importance. . ."


	3. The First Time

Actually, before Alabama kills me, I don't think Close Range by Annie Proulx (the collection that includes Brokeback Mountain (of Brokeback Mountain fame)) was ever banned anywhere. It was just called a banned books bin because the books contained "sensational" or "controversial" material. Meaning, the book store piled all the gay and interracial books in one bin at the front, called it the "Banned Books Bin", and called that good. Please don't kill me Alabama. . . Moving on!

* * *

"Is he ready to go?" 

"Yeah, he's got fresh everything, a night of sleep, and Locke's still at the hatch for some reason. . ."

"Cool, cool."

"Are we really doing this?"

It was two days later, and Hurley was at Claire's tent, picking up everything Aaron needed for an hour or two with Charlie. He'd been disappointed yesterday when Charlie had run off into the wild, but he was back now, and looked like he needed to be cheered up badly. Claire acted like she didn't care about Charlie's feelings, but Libby had told Hurley about what she'd seen in her yesterday.

_"Hey Hurley!" Libby had yelled._

_"Yeah?" Hurley replied, walking across the fire back to his hut._

_"Can I talk to you for a second?" she asked, her eyes pleading._

_Hurley shuffled over to her tent faster, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Shoot."_

_"What were you talking to Claire about?" Her eyes, innocently looking at his, made it impossible to lie._

_"Uh, I'm setting up visitations for Charlie to see Aaron," he admitted, looking at her eyes. He'd grown accustomed to them in a way, but also knew he'd never know the real depth of them._

_"Oh. . ."_

_"Why?"_

_"Hon–Hurley. . . be careful. With what you're doing," she'd said, looking absently at Claire, cooing to Aaron, telling him that Daddy wasn't around today. "She still. . ."_

_Hurley waited a moment for her to continue. After a while, he grew impatient. "Still what?"_

_"She still wants to be with him," Libby had said, changing the tone of every conversation that Hurley had with Claire onward._

And now, he remembered her asking, _Can I see him? Later on?_ and knew, Libby was right. "Yeah, we're doing this." _Dude, why are we talking like we're about to kill the President?_

"I dunno, Hurley. I guess it just seems that important," Claire replied. It was a moment or two before Hurley realized he'd spoken aloud. "To all of us," she added, and Hurley again knew, she meant Charlie.

"Aaron'll be back in one piece, kay?" he said lightly, trying not to make this seem too big.

A tear escaped Claire's eye as she said, "Tell Charlie. . . tell Charlie if everything. . . that if everything goes alright. . . if everything. . . tell him he's on the right track. Okay?" She finished, her voice choked with tears as she wiped them off of her face. She looked at Hurley, who stood dumbstruck. "Okay?"

"Anything you want," Hurley said, conspicuously devoid of accent. "So," he continued, picking Aaron up and taking the bag with him, "Aaron'll be here before Locke gets back?"

"Preferably," she laughed. "I mean, have you ever had to explain to a man who has seven knifes on him at any given time that you just gave your child over to a junkie that he had to beat up to keep the child you just gave away safe?"

"Uhh, I can safely say no?" he answered, as they burst into warm laughter.

"Have fun, Hurley," she said as a burdened Hurley turned to walk away.

"I always do. . ." Hurley said, mostly to himself. _I always do.

* * *

_"Hey, Charlie!" Hurley walked up to Charlie's new tent out in "the suburbs" as Sawyer called them. Dick. _Now don't you go around insulting others, Hugo,_ his mother chided him in his head. _You have to remember that you weren't all that well-respected once._ "Yeah, I know, ma. . ."

"Pardon?" Charlie said, sitting up and squinting at Hurley's silhouette. Hurley seemed a bit bigger than usual. Then, Charlie noticed the bulk of stuff Hurley was carrying. Along with–"Aaron! Oh my god, you weren't kidding! I thought you weren't–Oh my lord! I'm unprepared! What do I do?" Charlie stood up to take Aaron, or gesture in a big, dramatic fashion. Hurley wasn't sure of which. "Claire has all the–!"

"Dude! Chill!" Hurley laughed, "I got it all here, man. It's cool." Hurley handed him the bags so he could pile them at his sides, and lastly, handed Aaron over to Charlie. "You good?"

"Ohmygod. . ." Charlie said breathlessly, looking at Aaron again. "I never thought I'd. . ."

"Dude, never is a longer time than an hour allows," Hurley said sagely. "Also, you forget the fact that they gotta cram ads in, too, so we only get about fourty three minutes."

"I thought it was fourty two."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's fourty three. . ."

"In other news, what the fu. . .dge. . . are you on about?" Charlie stared at Hurley as if he'd just started babbling like they were on a tv show.

"Ah, never mind," Hurley said, taking a seat beside Charlie as he stood. "You gunna sit down, man?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Charlie replied, sitting in a practiced fashion without using his hands. "Hello, wee one. We haven't seen each other in a bit. And the last time was kind of a bad time for me, so you might not be that fond of me right now. . ." This was answered by Aaron with a hand to Charlie's face. "Hey, what are you–Oh! That's my nose!"

Hurley laughed at the pair of them, getting on as well as ever, like nothing had happened. Because to Aaron, nothing had happened. His father–_Charlie's not his father_–was someone completely separate from the guy who'd taken him to the beach, twice. Hurley waited the entire time, patiently, for Charlie to grow tired, for Aaron to grow tired, for the time to expire. In the end, he had to drag Aaron away from Charlie with the promise that he could see him again.

"When!" Charlie yelled at Hurley's retreating bulk.

"Maybe tomorrow? Depends on where Locke is!" Hurley turned back around, and started walking again. He stopped dead in his tracks as he remembered Claire's words. He turned to see Charlie turning a corner, around the forest. "CHARLIE!"

Charlie whipped around, his hair flipping wildly. "Yeah?"

Hurley started running back to where Charlie's new hut was. "Dude! Dude! I forgot something!" He stopped in front of Charlie, gasping and sweating.

"How far can you actually run, mate?" Charlie said concernedly. "I mean, before passing out from exhaustion, that is."

Hurley and Charlie cracked identical grins as Hurley replied, "Dude. Shove it. Anyway, Claire said, that if everything went well, to tell you, oh god. . ." Hurley stopped to take in a deep breath. "She said to say that if everything went well. . ."

"Well? Out with it!"

". . . that you were on the right track," Hurley finished, gasping. "Okay, I'm cool. I'm cool. . ."

"She said that? She told you to say that!" Charlie yelled in surprise.

"Dude! (gasp!) Whathe fu. . ." he paused to look at Aaron again, ". . .dge, did I just say?"

"You mean she–? Thank you! You fat, jovial, hilarious and frigging millionaire! YES!" Charlie ran off down the beach yelling and pumping his fists in the air.

"That guy is frigging nuts," Hurley said to Aaron. "And frankly, you couldn't have a better dad. Not-dad. Step-dad. Whatever. . ." Hurley took up his trek back to his tent again, with lighter spirits and heavier heart pains.

* * *

"So, how was it? Is Aaron okay? Does he need to be changed?" Claire yelled at Hurley as soon as he got in range, routinely taking Aaron from his arms, and rewrapping him and placing him in his cradle while asking more and more questions. 

Hurley looked from Claire to Libby who was standing next to her. "Did you have to put up with this the entire time?"

"I think 'ex-junkie who's in love with a baby he's taking care of for the first time in ages' is easier than 'worried mother,' sweeHurley," she said.

"Swihurley? What is that, a new island language?" Hurley ribbed, chuckling.

"You shush about my Freudian slips, you," she replied with her eyes comically narrowed.

"Well?" Claire turned on Hurley again after making sure Aaron was completely fine. "How did it go?"

"It went well," he said, shrugging.

"Well? Did you tell him? What I told you to? Cos if you didn't, I'm not going t–"

"Yes, yes, I told him," he blew her off. "Are we good?"

"We're excellent, Hurley," Claire said, grinning. "Now you two go shag like bunnies," she said to Hurley and Libby, shooing them away. When their faces fell, she added, "What? You think everyone doesn't know? Feh, everyone knew Charlie and I'd. . ." She stopped, realizing she was about to tell someone who didn't know that she and Charlie'd.

"Pardonnez moi?" Libby said in a fake french accent. "Did someone–?"

"Oh, get _lost_, you pair of gossips! Don't think that doesn't include you too, Hurley!" she yelled at his laughing face.

"Yeah, yeah, we're leaving," he said, taking Libby's hand and walking away. _Well, no need to be shy anymore._ He and Libby walked back to her hut feeling proud of themselves. Well, proud of Hurley, anyway. Hurley had to admit, Hurley was pretty proud of Hurley. Speaking of pride, there was someone who Hurley had to talk to. . .


	4. Gay Cowboys and Men with Feelings

"_Hey, Cowboy," Kate had said to Sawyer as Hurley passed._

"_Please, never ever call me that again," Sawyer had moaned as Hurley stopped to listen._

"_Why not?" she'd asked. "You know it's one of my favourites."_

"_This book has ruined every notion about cowboys and mah-chiz-mo I ever had as a kid," he'd replied._

"_Who's it by?" Hurley'd heard._

"_Annie Proulx. . ."_

"Hey! Cowboy!" It was the very least there was to say Sawyer was surprised to hear that word coming from Hurley's mouth. Hurley wasn't the nickname type.

"Yeah, Jabba?" Hurley wasn't surprised at all at this witty retort. He just walked on over to where Sawyer was sitting with new glasses and a new book.

"There was a book you were reading, a couple weeks back," Hurley began. "By Annie Proulx?"

"_Close Range_," Sawyer recalled. "Had a fuckin' gay cowboy story in it. Speakin' of which, stop calling me cowboy."

"Soon as you stop calling me lardo," Hurley muttered. "In any case, you still got that on you?"

"Uhh, somewhere in here, why?" Sawyer said, looking around behind him. "Getting a bit tired of Libby?"

"Nah, she's. . ." Hurley trailed off. "But anyhow, would you give it to me if I can guess who it belongs to?"

"Sounds interesting," Sawyer declared. "Shoot."

"Charlie Pace."

"Fuckwad."

"You gunna hand it over, dude?" Hurley chuckled.

"Yeah, take your fuckin'. . ." Sawyer reached back, pulled it out from his tent and chucked it at Sawyer.

"Did you just pull that out from under your pillow?" Hurley laughed.

"Shut the hell up," Sawyer muttered threateningly.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. . ." Hurley began to walk away, "_cowboy_. . ."

Sawyer sighed and watched his bedtime reading shuffling off with the one guy who shouldn't've beaten him in anything. Short of Jack, of course.

Hurley walked back to camp, thumbing through the first few pages of "Brokeback Mountain." So far, it really wasn't ban-worthy. The only -worthy things about it were a) the note-worthy name on the inside front cover ('**Charlie Pace, so hands off!**' in thick black sharpie) and b) the awe-worthy amount of wear on it. Not only were the edges of every page thick with grime (_Charlie really needs to wash his hands. . ._), but most of the pages were dog-eared in three or more places. When Charlie said he read it on the road, he meant it.

"Whatcha got there, Hurley?" Steve asked as Hurley got closer to his hut. "Is'at _Close Range_? I haven't seen that book for five years!"

"Really?" Hurley asked, barely concentrating on keeping up.

"Yeah," Steve said. "One of the guys brought it in one day, at the office. Just to make sure, 's'at the one with 'Brokeback Mountain'?"

"Last story," Hurley answered absentmindedly.

"Yeah," Steve said gravely. "That one ended a couple of marriages. I'm happy John and Tony are happy, though. . ."

Hurley looked at Steve shocked-and-confusedly. Somehow, Steve took this as a signal to continue. "Yeah, two guys got inspired by the story and sorta. . . well, I think you can guess." Upon seeing Hurley's blank face, he added, "Overshare?"

"Kinda." Hurley then turned and walked away, continuing on to his tent.

"There you are!" Tracy yelled at Steve as she grabbed him by the wrist. "We're late for our shift!"

"Locke canceled it for some reason or another," Steve informed her. "Something about comfort."

"Aww," she moaned. "I was looking forward to six more hours of–"

"Not on the beach!" he said urgently. "Remember? You're married? With kids?"

"And this is just sex, I know. Geez. . . ."

"Hey, Claire!" Hurley said brightly, acting like he hadn't just heard the weirdest conversation ever behind him. "Aaron all set?" Hurley had placed the book in his back pocket, which allowed him to smack his hands together like a coach of a Bantam soccer league team.

"Yep, he's ready to go like the last two times," Claire said. "My, have we developed a neat little routine here."

"Yeah," Hurley agreed, happy that his friends were happy. "So, time for me to ride out?"

"I was thinking. . ." Claire said, paying no attention to Hurley's last comment, "that next time, I could come with? Tag along? Say hi and all?"

"You sure?" Hurley asked. "I thought three was a charm."

"Well, the first time was kind of a test, anyway, so. . ." Claire mumbled. "But, I'd feel more comfortable next time."

"You want a day to make sure you don't smell like island."

Claire stared unsurely at the ground, and dug one of her toes in. "So?"

"Nothin'," Hurley said reassuringly. "Just funny is all."

"Funny strange or funny ha-ha?" Claire asked.

"A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B," he wheedled. "Seeya later?"

"Sure," she said, though to Hurley it always sounded like _shore_. With that thought, Hurley walked on down the beach to where Eko was building with the baby in tow. _Sure. . . shore. . . sure. . . shore. . . peanuts. . . Libby. . . . . . . . . . . pean–Libby. . ._

"Hello, Hurley," a deep voice said to his right.

"Oh, hey Eko," Hurley said absently. "Where's Charlie at?"

"He's waiting for you around the next corner, with his guitar," Eko replied, going about his construction.

"What are you building, man?" Hurley inquired, looking at the formation of. . . something. . .

"It. . . it's not ready to be advertised yet," Eko answered unsteadily. "Do you mind holding the end of this?" he asked, indicating a large log centered on a tree stump.

"No, not at all." Hurley shuffled over and precariously held the end of the log, leaning forward to make sure it didn't touch Aaron.

"How's the little one?" Eko said, coming down on the log with a hatchet.

"Holding up well, not sick or anything." Hurley looked down the beach, back where he came from and added, "You know, Mike used to be in construction, maybe you could get his help."

"I think I have all the help I need," Eko responded cryptically. "In any case, you are running late for your meeting."

"_Hurry up my fish is sick! Oh man, it's total gridlock!" . . . Dude, that was so racist it wasn't even funny. . ._ Hurley straightened up and cradled Aaron to his belly. "Yeah, Charlie calls."

"Goodbye, Hurley." With that, Eko turned back to his wood and resumed tying and chopping.

"Seeya, dude." Hurley started walking down the beach again. It was only a few paces before he saw Charlie, sitting on the ground, strumming away. "What's that one?"

The guitar came to an abrupt halt as Charlie realized he had an audience. "Uhh, it's. . . it's nothing, nothing at–why are you asking?"

"I brought your baby," Hurley said with a chuckle. "By the way, you gotta change'im, sorry. He sorta crapped himself when Eko started whaling on that log."

"Was he anywhere near it?" Charlie rose in a panic, guitar dropping to the beach. "Did he get a splinter? Those can hurt you know! Lemme see'im! Pass'im!" He started making gimme motions at Hurley, who obligingly passed Aaron over for full inspection. "Oh, god, he reeks!"

"I tolja!" Hurley laughed. "Point one for the fat guy!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Charlie said, waving Hurley off. "In any case, he's fine, you oaf."

"Anyway, what's Eko building?" Hurley sat down beside where Charlie was sitting, and picked up the guitar.

"Between you and me?" Charlie asked quietly.

"Who would I tell? 'Hey, Hurley! What's Eko building? I'm dying to know!'" Hurley prodded as he watched Charlie pace along the beach rocking Aaron. "In any case, would ya sit down? You're gunna gimme a seizure, dude."

"It's a church," he said quieter than before, looking around to make sure Eko wasn't peeking through the trees.

"Well, leave it up to the guy with the Jesus-stick," Hurley said in stark contrast to Charlie's attitude. "Seriously. Stick. With scripture. Jesus-stick. I'm not even that devoted!"

"Devout," Charlie muttered, between cooing at Aaron, and attempting to change him.

"See!" Hurley sighed. "So, what were you writing? Or playing, if you weren't writing it. . ."

"It was a song," Charlie said, having successfully changed Aaron and having sat down next to Hurley to stare at the surf.

"Okay. . ."

"For somebody."

After a pause that lasted a while, Hurley spoke up. "Who?"

"Who do you think?"

"Oh. . ." Hurley said. "So, you really do love Jack?"

"Hurley," Charlie answered warningly.

"I know." Hurley stared out at the surf. "You know, if we had a TV show, it'd be called _Men with Feelings._"

"Ew."

"Lowest ratings ever."

"You got that right."

"She wants you back, you know."

"You serious?"

"Yeah. By tomorrow, you won't even need a song."

"We'll still need a song. To dance on our wedding day."

"Who said that first?" Hurley asked suspiciously.

"Hawksley Workman," Charlie admitted. "Canadian singer-songwriter, crossed tours with him once, bought the album. How'd you know I didn't think that up?"

"Sounded like it shoulda rhymed with something," Hurley said simply.

"Ah."

"Oh! Yeah, dude, guess what I got?" Hurley asked excitedly.

"Laid?" Charlie said happily, readying himself for a high five.

"Uhh, no. Thanks for poking that wound." Hurley put down the guitar and reached around into his back pocket. "I got a book."

"If it's _Bad Twin_, I've–"

"Better! And I didn't know you took _Close Range_ with you everywhere you went," Hurley said mockingly.

"Well–I–Um–Are you going to give it to me or not?" Charlie decided on.

Hurley put the book down next to Charlie. "All yours man."

"Thanks. But no one finds out that I read about gay cowboys on the road."

"You got it."

Fourty minutes later, Hurley was walking back along the beach after an unusually calm visit for both baby and daddy. He said hi to everyone he saw, he kissed Libby on the cheek as they passed each other. Finally, he reached Claire's tent. In Aaron's crib, he found a note, that read:

_Dear Hurley,_

_I hope I get back before you find this, but if I don't, I was wondering if you could look after Aaron for a while. I'm out getting water from the thing Libby set up. Well, you and Libby set up. Btw, how did you two think of that anyhow? Tell me when I get back, Claire._

Hurley smiled as he set Aaron down, moved his crib to the shade and settled in.


	5. Morning People and The Fourth Time

This one was difficult. I started out with two rules: All scenes are two on two, and all scenes are Hurley on Somebody. Above all, this story is meant to be Hurley centric. However, this meant that I couldn't show Charlie and Claire doing what they do here. So, without further ado, I present the first split chapter. Also, if you look closely, I've been trying to do this same thing subtly all along to prepare. Just thought I'd give you a heads up.

* * *

Hurley woke up, and felt around for his jar of ranch dressing. Then, he remembered. Dave. Libby. The part of the jungle he'd ruined with salted food all over the ground. The food drop. The cliff. The kiss. The first visit with Charlie, after all that. That was a long day.

Then the second visit after he'd ditched making Bernard's sign to see what a certain blonde clinical psychologist was up to. He still had to apologize to the guy for that. . .

The third visit, when he was double tasking between the date with Libby and having feelings with Charlie.

Which brought up the fact that she hadn't come back with those blankets. _Oh well, _Hurley thought. _She probably got drafted onto button duty._

_But she'd be back by now, wouldn't she?_

_Dude, there's no way she booked. It's a desert island!_

_There's always someone more important than you, Hurley. Face it._

_Dude, shut up!_

Hurley wasn't a morning person. He lumbered out of his hut, put on the same shirt he'd worn the day before, and went to get his morning dose of sugar from some cereal and UHT. He was pouring the milk onto the no name cocoa puffs, when another blonde crept up behind him.

"Good morning, Hurley!" Claire said chipperly. _God damn morning people,_ he thought.

"Hey, Claire," he replied tiredly.

"Ooh, you look like hell," she gasped as she took down Dharma Bran Flakes with Sugared Raisins. "Late night? I know I had one."

"What was up with you?" he muttered.

"Well," she said, taking down the milk and setting it on the table next to the spoon and bowl, "preparing to see Charlie again, emotionally. It's. . ." Here her chipper facade cracked. "It's not as easy as I thought, but I think I can say what I need to say and get it over with. What's troubling you?" she asked, returning to her cereal.

"Have you seen Libby around, anywhere?" he asked suddenly.

"Uhh, no? Sorry," she sighed.

"Damn," he muttered as he turned to sulk away.

"Hurley?"

He turned to look at her, standing there all cute and innocent with her tiny bowl of raisin bran. "Yeah, Claire?"

"When. . ." she faltered, then approached him to speak softer. "When we're. . . Oh, there's no polite way to say this, but I have to, so I'll just. . . Could Charlie and I visit. . . alone?"

_No one in the history of the English language has spoken a better word._ "Yeah, sure," he said out loud. He paused a moment before continuing. "Listen, it's been a rough two days, so, sorry if my normal non-morning self is crabbier than usual."

"It's okay," Claire reassured him. "We all have bad days."

"Thanks." He started to walk away again, before he turned back. "You _sure_ you haven't seen Libby?"

Claire merely shrugged and said, "Sorry."

"It's okay." With that, he walked back to his hut.

Claire watched him go, sad and hunched over. For a moment, she felt a bit of pity for the big guy, all stood up and sleepless. _Maybe I'll make him a card, or something. . ._ she thought. _He did get me talking to Charlie again. . . not that that matters. . . oh, bugger._ She began walking back to her tent to feed Aaron and laze about in the sun.

It was a few hours later that Claire spotted Hurley walking up the beach again, staring about aimlessly. She sat up straighter, and tried to swim out of the nap her mind had been on the verge of. "Hey, Hurley," she called cheerily.

"Hey yerself," Hurley replied, still grumpy with a touch of irritation and worry in his voice. He paused to look at her quizzical features again before continuing, "Sorry, no one's seen Libby since she went to get the blankets."

"Oh," she sighed, her features falling. "I hope she's okay."

"She should be fine," he reassured her. "She's resourceful."

"Hm. So are you here to take me to wherever Charlie is these days?" she asked, standing with her hands on her hips, the baby between them.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled. "Pass the baby." He held out his arms for Aaron as Claire passed him along.

"Can you wait a sec?" Claire turned and started rummaging around in her travel bag. About halfway down, she said "Ah!" and packed both into a small bag alongside the bag full of baby stuff. "Okay, we can go."

Somewhere, down beneath the irritation, the worry and the bad day, Hurley's heart was tickled. "Is that the–?"

"Shush!" Claire said emphatically. "And before you finish that, yes, it is, so can we go?"

Claire and Hurley arrived at the Church-in-Progress after 20 minutes. They both said Hi to Eko, they both rounded the corner, but Hurley rounded it first. "Hey, dude," he said. "I got your carryons," he said, holding up the baby, "and your baggage," he finished, motioning to Claire.

Claire's features had become noticeably slack and cold. "Hi, Charlie."

Upon seeing how Claire looked at him, Charlie said with equal tone and emphasis, "Hi, Claire."

It was an awkward silence before Hurley attempted to speak. "Well, aren't we a cheerful bunch." At this, they all shared a laugh. "Well, I'm gunna book. You guys are. . . yeah." After that, Hurley walked away once more, leaving the baby in Charlie's arms.

"Well," Charlie said.

"Yeah," Claire said.

"We're–"

"–here, yeah." Claire paused for a moment, and considered what she should say.

However, Charlie beat her to the punch. "What's in the bag?"

"Well," she said teasingly, "first there's Dharma Initiative Oreos. . ." She pulled them out from her bag with her left hand, slowly. "And then I figured the only way to enjoy Oreos. . ." she said, twitching her right arm glacially out from inside, "is with the one jar of peanut butter Hurley saved for us," she finished, revealing it to him.

His eyes dropped open, then he closed them abruptly as he looked away. He let out a short breath and said, "that's a hell of an olive branch to be waving," without meeting her eyes.

"This is a hell of a relationship we had," she said. "Followed by a hell of a fight. I figured that hell-of-a situations require hell-of-a measures." Meanwhile, she'd sat down beside him and opened the Oreos. "Have you ever tried Oreos and peanut butter?"

"I've tried a lot of things–"

"Chinese wheelbarrow?" she interjected.

"–but I haven't tried Oreos and peanut butter, no," he finished. "But who hasn't done the Chinese Wheelbarrow? I mean, that one and missionary, all I know."

"No way!" she yelled. "You, rock god of all that is imaginable, only know two?"

"Well, uhh–"

"I'm a house-girlfriend! I know more than I can count with my socks and shoes off!"

"Did it occur to you that I was kidding?" he asked patiently.

Claire awkwardly held her breath. After a moment she let out a quiet "Oh."

Charlie burst into warm laughter. At the sound of his dad's voice, Aaron cooed and giggled. "Oh!" Charlie said, "it seems I may have missed you, little one. You been a good boy for your mum?" Aaron cooed and babbled in response.

"I think he likes you," Claire whispered.

"Did you just figure that one out now?" Charlie whispered back.

"You shush. I'm just saying what needs to be said."

"You mean what you need to say."

"Yeah."

"Then say you like me."

Claire was completely taken aback at this. "Pardon?"

"I said, 'Then say you like me'," Charlie clarified.

"I don't think–It's not–Oreo?"

"Wow. Delicious topic change," he said taking an Oreo from the box. "See what I did there?"

"I see what you did there," she agreed, opening the peanut butter and taking off the aluminum plastic layer. "Now, all you have to do is dip it in. . ."

"Alright. . ." Charlie awkwardly maneuvered around the baby, dipping the whole Oreo into the top of the jar. Cautiously, he took the peanut butter heaped cookie into his mouth. Suddenly, his face exploded in wide-eyed pleasure. "Oh my GOD! This is a hell of a lot better than any wheelbarrow of any nationality! This is orgasmic! Claire, you really gotta try thi–Oh." Charlie's face fell adorably when he realized Claire introduced him to this treat.

"Just like any other first-timer," she said, taking an Oreo from the box, coating it in peanut butter and biting off half. She moaned in pleasure, then went to dip the other half again.

"Hey, hey, whoa!" he said hurriedly. "You can't double dip that!"

"But Charlie," she said with her eyes open wide, "you don't really mind if it's _me_, do you?" She slowly dipped the cookie in the velvety surface of the peanut butter, and even more slowly took it back to her mouth, breaking off a tiny chunk in her lips and closing her eyes in rapture. Then Charlie realized that her moving slowly was actually just his mind being unable to comprehend what he was picking up on. Charlie? Earth to Charlie? Hi, it's Ms. Littleton, looking for Mr. Pace? Oh, he isn't in, I'll come back another time."

Charlie shook his head side to side and blinked a couple times. "Uh, yeah, I'm here, don't worry." He smiled his best 'I-am-so-fully-cognizant' smile at her, and started playing with Aaron again.

A rather uneventful twenty or so minutes later, Claire asked, "Was Hurley supposed to come back? To pick me and Aaron up?"

"I dunno what he told you, but I haven't heard anything," Charlie said, rocking Aaron back and forth.

"Hm." She looked around, dipping another Oreo and placing it on her tongue. Charlie watched–scratch that, stared–as she broke it off into her mouth. "That is strange," she added finally, turning back to a Charlie who had his eyes focused on the jar in front of him. Course, she could tell he was looking. Not that she didn't care. Cared. Damn. "In any case, I think I have to get going."

"By yourself?" he asked, taking another peanut butter laden cookie into his mouth.

"Looks like," she said reluctantly, beginning to pack up her stuff. "Kinda drags, cos I was hoping to see him again. . ."

"So you didn't have to carry all of this?" he remarked casually, handing her Aaron, filling her arms.

"Yeah, a little. . ."

"Cos you don't have to you know. I could get some of it," he sneaked.

"Oh, Charlie, you don't have t–"

"Bollywockies," he said, grabbing the two bags, one containing the food, the other with nappies and other necessities. "Shall we?"

"I guess. . ." she caved, as they walked back to her tent, Charlie with a smile on his face and Claire cringing at the talk to come.

* * *

Charlie set Claire's stuff down by her tent, watching Claire lean over to put the baby back into the crib. The sun was just about to dip over the horizon as they stood there. He briefly wondered why all dramatic moments on this island happened around sunset. Then dismissed the thought. "So, this is where we are."

She stood stiffly to respond to him, the last time she'd thought that fresh in her memory. She faced away from him, unwilling to show him the emotion in her eyes. "Charlie, I have something difficult to say to you. But it has to be said if we're ever going to live on this island."

Charlie's face fell, disappointment setting in. All of Hurley's work, gone. For nothing. "Claire, you don't have to–"

"I _do_, Charlie, so SH!" She still hadn't turned around, as the tears fell, clumping the sand between her toes. "It needs to be said. And, it's tearing me up inside, because I can't bear to think of what I'm doing to Aaron, or myself, or you by feeling this way."

"I understa–"

"No, I assure you, you don't." Her hands clenched into fists, her eyes screwed shut against the feeling. "You don't know what it's like to do this. It's hard, but I have to." Claire turned to finally face Charlie fully, but his eyes were focused on the ground beneath her, at her feet. Her bare feet. His eyes slowly traveled upward. . .

"It's something that's taken a while for me to realize I felt. . ."

Her knees. . .

"And it's something that, deep down, I know is right."

Her stomach. . .

"So, here it is."

Her face.

"Come home, Charlie. We need you here."

He blinked once. He blinked twice. He frowned, and tried to work out what she'd just said in his brain. _Come home. We need you._ No, that's not. . . _Come home._ "You're–?"

"Of **_course_**, I'm sure, Charlie! You don't get that angsty a buildup if I'm **_not_**, now do you?" she cried, smiling and running to hold him again and smell him again, and feel his skin under her hands.

"Gimme a second, I think I'm in shock," he replied dazedly. Neither of them were aware that there was now a ring of onlookers around the camp, attracted by the drama at the tent so near the fire. "I thought you were about to–you know, gimme the boot."

Claire pulled back from his chest, her eyes red and cheeks wet. "Doofus," she said, looking him frankly in the eye. The applause and shouts all around them went unnoticed too.

He pulled her close, placing his head on her shoulder, his mouth next to her neck. He swallowed a giant lump in his throat, and said, "I love you."

"I love you too, Charlie," she said into his ear. "Come on, let's get to bed. It's been a long day."

"It has," he complied, shambling to her sheet, as she drew the tarp around her shelter. "I mean, the only thing that's missing is if somebody died," he wisted, taking off his shoes and socks.

"Yeah," she agreed lazily, taking off her clothes and changing into her sleep wear: an old tank top and the underwear she was wearing that day.

"So," he said, now in his underwear, "no sex?"

"Nah, not in the mood." She crawled between her sheets and felt his arms wrap around her now empty mid-section.

"Good, cos I don't think the rest of the people who saw us get into this shelter together would appreciate the noise," he quipped, shutting his eyes for sleep.

She moaned as she turned over to face him with her eyes open. "I'm not _that_ vocal, am I?"

His eyes sprang open to regard her angelic features in the twilight. "_Steve and Tracy_ told us to keep it down once."

"Only cos I yelled at them."

"True. Anyway," he said, his eyes closing, along with hers, "g'night, space monkey."

"Space monkey?" she jolted, eyes opening.

"Listen, do you want to sleep or talk all night?"

"Sleep would be nice," she said, her eyes shutting again.

"Then good_night_, space monkey."

"Mm. Night, spaceman spiff."

It wasn't until midnight that Charlie awoke to a rapping on the tarp.


End file.
